Portrait Of You
by silkplants
Summary: Alfred is an aspiring artist in his last year of high school. Arthur is his beloved muse, even if he doesn't know it yet. Usuk.


Alfred stared dreamily at the figure a few seats away from him, his pencil moving fast and precise. He had an open sketchbook on the table, and was drawing the person's likeness during their school's lunch period.

Said person went by the name of Arthur Kirkland, and he'd come from Bristol at the beginning of the school year. His mother had to move for work, or at least, that's what everyone seemed to think. Though, he wasn't sure, as he and Arthur didn't get a chance to speak often.

But, Alfred was a little embarrassed to admit that he'd developed a crush on the other boy. He wasn't the only one, either. Arthur's accent and wit made him popular among the American students. So Alfred had some competition. Not that he'd ever hint to Arthur that he liked him, anyways.

Arthur laughed at something one of his friends said, and Alfred hurried to copy the smile down onto his paper. He looked at his work, and changed a few details before he was satisfied with the outcome. Alfred closed his book, and tucked it under his arm.

He'd like to talk to Arthur, but they had a somewhat complicated relationship. Alfred had made a bad first impression, accidentally insulting Arthur even though he didn't mean it. He'd apologized since then, but Arthur didn't talk to him in the halls or anywhere else unless he needed to. Alfred gathered his things, and got up to return to his classes.

Alfred shared his last class with Arthur, and as Arthur packed his papers and books up to leave the classroom, Alfred outstretched his arm. He bit his lip, then took a breath and addressed him. "Arthur-"

Arthur turned to face him, and rose a brow. "Yes?"

Alfred hadn't thought this far ahead. He'd decided in class that he'd talk to him, but hadn't thought about what to say. He fumbled, then forced a chuckle. "You look especially irritated today." Wait, fuck. Idiot. Whatever he should have said, that wasn't it. Alfred looked away.

Arthur looked disappointed for a brief second, and he then sighed and shook his head. "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Jones." He left the room.

Alfred smacked his forehead, and groaned, getting his things. He waited a while, so that Arthur could get farther away. He then exited the school, going home with his head down.

It was days before Alfred could even bring himself to look at Arthur again. He had distracted himself by drawing different objects and scenes. But, he managed to move past it, at least somewhat, by Friday.

Alfred sat on the front steps of the school as students shuffled past him to go home. He observed Arthur, who was sitting under a tree with earbuds in and a book in his lap. He assumed Arthur was reading and listening to music, and Alfred smiled at the thought. Arthur was alone, which wasn't uncommon. Arthur had friends, but everyone knew that he could get prickly if he had to interact with people for too long. He valued his time alone.

Still, Alfred liked to imagine that Arthur wouldn't get tired of him, even if the two of them weren't close. Alfred shrugged. He could have his fantasies. He opened his sketchbook and flipped to a clean page, looking Arthur over and beginning to draw him again.

He'd been working for a while, and had Arthur's face and upper body detailed in before hearing a voice behind him.

"Hey, Al, whatcha got there?"

Alfred jumped, and turned to find an unfamiliar boy behind him. He sort of recognized him, although he didn't know his name. They probably shared a class. "That's a pretty good drawing, looks just like him.." He said. "Maybe even a little better."

Alfred felt a blush rise to his cheeks as his sketchbook was snatched out from under him. "Wh- Hey!" He protested, reaching for it. The boy held it away from him. "Don't you think Arthur should see all your drawings of him?" He flipped through the pages. "There's a lot of 'em, after all."

"No! No, he can't-" Alfred got to his feet, but the boy was already running towards Arthur. He went to follow, but he tripped on the stairs, which gave the other all the time he needed. Alfred watched in horror as he approached Arthur, pointing at Alfred and opening the sketchbook.

Arthur took the book reluctantly. As he flipped through it, however, after a few pages he frowned, turning the papers quickly. Alfred got to his feet and ran towards them, the boy leaving as Alfred got closer.

"Jones-" Arthur started, shutting the book with a blush on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm sorry, shit, I know that's got to be weird and I'm sorry I drew them without asking.."

Arthur looked down. "Then you really did make them. I was worried he wasn't telling me the truth. I um..you're very talented.." He sighed. "I thought you disliked me." He rose a brow, looking up to meet his eyes.

Alfred shook his head vigorously. "Um, no! No, no, nothing like that! I don't hate you! Um, it's the opposite, actually, ha.." He rubbed his neck.

Arthur handed his book back to him with a soft 'Oh', then sighed and said. "I like them. Your artwork, I mean. May I…have one?" He asked slowly, shuffling in the dirt.

Alfred blinked owlishly, then smiled and carefully tore one of his best drawings out of the book, giving it to Arthur. "Okay, but only on one condition. You have to let me walk home with you." He blurted out, grinning.

Arthur rose a brow, and tilted his head. "But you live in the other direction?"

"..How do you know which way I live?" Alfred asked after a pause, and Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, blushing and looking away with a small and embarrassed smile.

Alfred couldn't hold back a laugh. He found himself grinning and wrapping an arm around Arthur's shoulders as he walked him home, eagerly waiting for the chance to draw him again.


End file.
